


Dirty Talk Is The Most Fun A Boy Can Have In The Georgian Era

by DetectiveJoan



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Masturbation, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 02, the working title was "Interdimensional Skype Sex" but i'm not sure how to translate that into tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 15:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15633081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveJoan/pseuds/DetectiveJoan
Summary: “After you rescue me,” Mark says on one of the endless nights of 1810, while he and Sam are lying side by side in the grass that neither of them can quite feel, “we’re going to have the most amazing welcome-back-to-your-body sex.”





	Dirty Talk Is The Most Fun A Boy Can Have In The Georgian Era

**Author's Note:**

> Lauren: Sam and Mark's initial courtship was all very early-1800s-Respectable-English-Society repressed because they couldn't touch each other and they never discussed physical intimacy; there was nothing more significant between them than meaningful glances and lots of quiet pining.
> 
> Me: lol
> 
> (This is severely under-edited, please lmk if you see any particularly glaring errors)

“After you rescue me,” Mark says on one of the endless nights of 1810, while he and Sam are lying side by side in the grass that neither of them can quite feel, “we’re going to have the most amazing welcome-back-to-your-body sex.”

“Oh?” Sam says, somehow sounding cool and nonchalant despite the fact that her heart has just dropped clean out of her chest.

“Yeah,” Mark says. “One of the first things I want to do when I have hands again is put them all over you. My mouth, too.”

Sam continues staring resolutely up at the stars, because she thinks she might actually burst into flames if she looks over at him; no one’s ever spoken to her with this type of directness before, and there's a sudden tightness of nervous excitement in her stomach.

“I’ll start right here.” He makes a gesture she can’t quite see. “Kiss the corner of your jaw. And then the same place on the other side for good measure. And then I think I’ll kiss down your neck a bit, until you get chills from how warm I feel against your skin.”

When she closes her eyes, she can imagine it easily. She can’t feel it, of course — she can’t quite feel anything in this dimension — but it’s nearly there if she thinks it hard enough.

“What then?” she asks, and dares to look over at him. He’s grinning as brightly as she’s ever seen.

“Your lips,” he says. “Have you ever been kissed before, Sam?”

“No,” she says. She’s never been more sure that her awkward fumblings with James Wheelwright beneath the bleachers in the eighth grade don’t count for anything. “But I’d like you to.”

Mark rolls onto his front and props himself up on his elbows, arms folded beneath him. He’s so close she should be able to feel him pressed up all along her side. She shifts towards him.

“It’ll be good. I’ll start so slow — give you a dozen small kisses before you can even open your mouth. And then it’ll get deeper. I’ll slip my tongue into your mouth, and bite your lip just a little — just to see if you gasp when I do. And I’ll be touching you, too. One hand on the side of your neck to keep me oriented. And the other...somewhere lower.”

His eyes track down her body.

“Where can I touch you?” he asks. “Your waist?”

She bites her own lip and drags her fingers along her own neck, eyes closed again so she can pretend it’s all him. Her other hand drifts naturally upward from her hip, over the curve of her stomach, and then it’s softly cupping one of her breasts.

“My chest,” she answers, spreading her fingers.

Mark makes a small noise, like he’s surprised.

“Fuck, Sam,” he mutters, and it’s almost the first time he sounds unsure. “I — can I see?”

She only hesitates for a moment before she nods and sits up. Something about the difference in their abilities means that she’s tethered to both her body and her clothing more firmly than he is. He’d mentioned a few trips ago that he could barely feel his own touch. He changed his outfit once, after a year of concentration, and hasn’t been able to do anything else about it since. Sam, however, finds it as easy here as it is at home to grab her shirt by the hem and twist it off over her head.

“Damn,” Mark says when she turns back to him. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this before, but your breasts are amazing.”

Sam is blushing all down her neck to the straps of her plain black bra, but it might be dark enough in the moonlight that he can’t see. “You’re biased by the fact that I’m the first girl you’ve seen shirtless in two years.”

“It’s been longer than that,” Mark admits, “but I would have thought you were hot back then too.”

He shifts until he’s sitting with his legs crossed in front of her.

“What I’ll do next, when we’re together for real, is pull you into my lap, like this —” he gestures her over and she goes because he can’t actually _pull_ her right now. She tries to be careful about going around him as she kneels over his lap, but she knows that if she misses neither of them will be able to feel it. Her skirt is long enough and loose enough that it pools between her legs, covering all the places where they’re probably phasing through each other.

Mark holds his open palms just over her thighs, traces the shape of her wide hips and the curves of her waist until his hands are hovering over her breasts. He looks up at her with something like reverence.

“God, you’re so lovely, Sam. I’m going to touch you everywhere. Not like this, all soft like you’re imagining it. You’ll know exactly where I am without having to look.” He moves one hand to her back (and he’s right, she’s imagining the press of it against his skin) and uses two fingers of his other hand to outline the top shape of her bra.

“Would you touch yourself for me?” he asks, and she watches his thumb move over her nipple. “Right here.”

She does; rolls her hands over her own skin the same way she does when she’s alone, fingers pinching at her nipples until they’re firm to her own touch and there are goosebumps running up her chest.

“I wish I could suck on your tits,” he says with a small sigh.

“ _Jesus,_ Mark,” she half gasps in surprise, and her thigh muscles tighten to stop herself grinding down against him automatically. “How can you just say things like that?”

He’s almost smirking now; he definitely saw her hips move. “It’s easy to say true things,” he says like a shrug. “Like this: I want to kiss you here.” He point to a place on her stomach.

“And here.” Above the point of her sternum, right in the center of her chest.

“And here.” The underside of her left breast.

“And then lick over your nipples. Make them all hot and wet and sensitive.” Sam has to bite her lip against to keep from making a noise when she imagines it. “I can see how much you’re hot for it right now, even though it’s only your own hands,” he says. “I bet you’re really sensitive there already. God, I bet I could make you make the prettiest noises just from spending some time with my face on your breasts.”

He isn’t looking up at her face anymore; his attention is rapt to her chest. Contemplative. Considering.

“I’d use my teeth — just a little bit again, just enough to make you moan. And I’d suck a bruise into your skin right under your nipple — here — that you could feel for a week.”

Sam lets herself make a noise this time, even if it’s just a small moan that he might not even be able to hear over the way her breathing has already gotten kind of tight and loud. She also allows herself to make the motions of rubbing her hips downward, even though there won’t be any friction there.

“Put your hands under my skirt?” she asks, less command or request than suggestion.

Mark does so easily and immediately, and even if it does nothing for her physically, looking down to see his arms hidden so close to where she wants him to touch her makes something in her stomach get tighter.

“What would you like me to do next?” he asks. The question is too open, the same as his face, and although Sam has a million ideas all tumbling around in her brain, she can’t manage to choose a single one to voice, let alone actually figure out how to put it into words. He throat goes sort of tight and she shakes her head.

“I want to hear what you’re thinking,” Mark says softly. “What if I ask you questions? Could you answer them?”

Sam swallows. “I can do that.”

He spends a moment watching the way she’s continuing to move her hips in slow circles over his hands, then licks his lips.

“Where should we do this?” he prompts. “When we get back to the same dimension. Your place, my place? The backseat of the getaway car? Or a lavish hotel suite with wide open windows and a bed big enough for anything we can think of?”

“Mmm, that last one,” she says, and tries to picture it. All bright sunshine and white sheets and a high rise view of the city. Kneeling like this on the mattress instead of in the grass.

“Good call. God, I miss beds,” he mutters to himself, then leans even further into her space. “Take your skirt off for me, too.”

It’s much less of a question this time. She obediently pushes herself to her feet, reaches behind herself to undo the clasp and zipper, and lets the fabric flutter down her legs.

He doesn’t make any pretenses about letting his gaze run over her body, almost entirely on display under the moonlight; his gaze lingers between her legs.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asks.

Sam shivers like she can feel the wind, but there’s nothing on her skin but her own flush at the thought. She nods.

“With my hands or my mouth?” he asks, and then adds as an afterthought, “Or do you want to sit on my lap again?”

Every option sounds amazing, and Sam would happily take whatever he wanted to giver her, but — but that’s not the game. The game is her making decisions and asking for what she wants.

“Your hands,” she says.

His fingers stretch against his own legs reflexively. “Where do you want me?”

This time, she says the first answer that comes to mind without giving herself time to consider. “On top of me,” she replies, voice almost steady.

He grins up at her again. “Well then, get down here.”

She does as she’s told, following his direction until she’s flat on her back. Mark settles in between her legs, and she can tell he’s being just as careful not to phase through her.

“You still have to be my hands,” he says, leaning over and planting his elbows on either side of her head so his face is so close to hers she has to remind herself she can’t lean up and kiss him. “Show me what you like.”

She runs her hands across her own skin again, pausing to pay special attention to all her favorite spots before finally stretching her fingers below the waistband of her panties. She could have taken them off while she was standing, but now she gets the image of her own knuckles bulging through them as Mark kneels between her legs and looks down at her movements with something like hunger on his face, and that’s

 _Fuck,_ that’s hot.

“I don’t want to take my time with you,” he says, dragging his eyes back to her face. His breathing is heavier now, too — the only indication that he’s physically affected by any of this. “Not the first time. Fuck, Sam, I feel like I’ve already been waiting years to see you like this. To hear you…”

She strokes down the length of her folds, slicking up her own fingers; she doesn’t bother with penetration, with stretching herself open for him. She just smears her own wet up to her clit and starts rubbing circles until her hips are bucking up towards him and she can’t hold back her moans. “Fuck - Mark.”

“I can’t wait to get my fingers inside you,” he whispers, leaning back down so his mouth is so close to her ear she can pretend to feel his warm breath on her neck. “You’ll be so wet and ready for it, it’ll be easy to make you feel good.”

He shifts his weight to one side so he can bring a hand to her chest again. He smooths his palm down her front, drifting not an inch above her skin, until his hand is hovering over hers. It accentuates the difference between them; his hand is so much bigger, his fingers long and thin, and she can just imagine what they would look like while pressing inside her slowly, what his thumb could feel like pressing on her clit like this.

She closes her eyes and arches her back when she comes.

When she’s done, he rolls to the side and collapses on the grass beside her. She finds herself suddenly chilly as her flushed skin cools down; he passes her shirt back to her, and she pulls it on before settling back next to him.

“You know what else I miss? Cuddling,” he says. “That’s not really on theme with everything else I’ve said tonight, but I’d kill to be able to hold you right now.”

She shifts closer, until their shoulders are brushing and she tells herself she can feel his warmth through her sleeve.

“I’d like that, too,” she says. “But this is good for now, right?”

Mark’s mouth twists into a half-smile. “Yeah. This is good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title obviously based on the [Panic! at the Disco song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-1A0jfF67Q) (NSFW audio at link).
> 
> I'm DetectiveJoan and you can find me on [tumblr](http://detectivejoan.tumblr.com/) where I am, for better or worse, mostly not writing porn.


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